


Not What Was Expected

by Stasia



Category: Jane Austen - Mansfield Park
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stasia/pseuds/Stasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is never the way you expect it will be.  Simple things, little changes, can make a world of difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not What Was Expected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maidenjedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/gifts).



> Author Notes: I enjoyed writing this. I have always wanted to explore the alternate ways this story could have gone. I had two wonderful betas read this, and they've both been very helpful. I owe them lots for their quick, intelligent work.
> 
> I hope you like this story and that it fills your holiday with joy.

Not What Was Expected

 

Fanny turned away from the window, but the noise and dirt within was as distressing as the grey drizzle without. Tom sat at the top of the stairs, bouncing his glass marbles down the stairs one at a time to his brother Charles, who lay at the foot of the stairs catching them. He was deliberately lying across the doorway between the hall and the kitchen in order to most vex Rebecca every time she went from room to room. Between the noise of the boys' shouts to each other, Rebecca's annoyed exclamations, and her mother's calls for the boys to be more quiet, Fanny felt her head begin to pound.

In her room itself, quiet and peace reigned. Susan sat, a book open on the table at her side and her work forgotten in her lap. She laughed, after a few moments, and read out a line, ending with "Oh, Fanny, I know it is a sad poem, but I am forever amused by the image of Robert Burns startling back from a little mouse." Fanny, cheered by Susan's bright face and happy demeanor, sat at her own seat, pulled a heavy robe over her lap, and took up her work again.

"Read out the whole of it to me," she said, smiling still.

Susan had not got halfway through the poor mouse's little destroyed house when Charles, at the foot of the stairs, called out to say that the mail was here and Fanny had a letter.

Susan looked up and said, "I will get the tea things from the kitchen and will bring your letter with them; you are cold and should stay under the robe."

The tea things were brought, with the letter, which was, as Fanny had alternately hoped for and feared, from Miss Crawford. It was thick; the length made Fanny's heart quail at the news she expected to find within it.

> "My dear Fanny,
> 
> "First let me convey my gratitude to you for allowing Henry to stay in town long enough to attend the party. You have no conception of how important a man like Henry is when in town; there are few against whom he does not shew well, in manners at least. I have included a few lines from him. I am sure those will be of more interest to you than my poor attempts must be."

Fanny shook her head at Miss Crawford's continued belief in the connexion between her brother and herself, but she returned to the letter.

> "I confess the meeting between your cousin Mrs Rushworth and Henry was disappointing. She was deliberately cutting to him, which he and I both agree is unfair to you. How unreasonable is it that a Mrs Rushworth, even with her excellent house in Wimpole Street and fine dinners should be upset that her cousin should have something of the same nature? I had almost convinced Henry that he should attempt to make her understand just how much of an insult this is to you, but he was determined to go back to Norfolk directly.
> 
> "I do not quite know what it is he intends to do there. He said something about the steward, or one of the tenants, but I didn't follow which. I am entirely surprised that he knows the tenants by name; he certainly didn't shew any interest in them, and why should he have, earlier? I did tax him with his unusual interest in these people, but he seemed most concerned. I can only assume this new diversion of his to be of your doing.
> 
> "I cannot understand your cousin, my dear Fanny. He comes to town, he waits upon me at the Fraser's - oh, I have forgot to tell you how fine he looked. There was not a gentleman in the party who was taller or more elegant. I do not know how he manages to be so much less lively than other men and yet still so much more attractive than they, men with greater fortunes and less distressing professions.
> 
> "However, I mean that he has left town and left without saying anything of import. He came and was polite, yet I kept feeling as if there were something lacking. Oh, I miss our little intimate circle of this past summer. I have never felt as amused in the country before. I had never any idea of country living being so pleasant and congenial. Your family, my little Fanny, has powers of entertainment I have not found in many others.
> 
> "I must run. Mrs Fraser is having a small dinner party in two days and she says that there is something about the arranging that I am to do. I think she is hoping to shew off her new cook. I close with my love and affection, etc, and all the same from my brother. But of his interests you can read for yourself, in his lines, included."

Fanny sighed. Mr Crawford's lines, on a separate paper sealed with red wax, lay in her lap. With a feeling more of obligation than of interest, she opened the letter. Its contents were as follows.

> "My dear Miss Price,
> 
> "I am leaving for Everingham early tomorrow. On our walk through Portsmouth, I mentioned to you the issues I had dealt with up 'til now, and that I wish to see for myself that they are being attended to as I had hoped. I am surprised at my interest in these matters, as they have previously been of little consequence to me. However, I intend to make my strong concerns clear to Maddison, as I have expressed them to you.
> 
> "I confess myself more willing to go see to my property, more interested in seeing it, than even when I was busy with its improvements. I don't wish to stay in town longer, which fact has distressed my poor sister. I am sure she will forgive me, for it is partially your sweet fault that I am thusly engaged.
> 
> "Do not forget to let Mary know if you are in need of anything, from conveyance to new gloves. I close, ever yours,
> 
> "Henry Crawford"

Fanny sat back in her chair, overwhelmed by a strong mixture of feelings. On one hand, it was vexing to have Mr and Miss Crawford continue in their belief that she wished to fix Mr Crawford's interest in her. On another, she was pleased to see Mr Crawford behaving towards his property and tenants in such a just and proper way. She entirely dismissed her own influence on his behaviour. He was able to choose his actions and movements for himself; any implication that she was the reason he behaved in this way was unjust flattery.

Miss Crawford's letter, for once, brought Fanny more anxiety than the lines from her brother. Compared to her words, his seemed entirely sensible and well-thought-out.

That Miss Crawford would see Edmund and only think of how he looked was becoming a familiar pain, but to have her say that she thought her brother would be justified in continuing a flirtation which had already caused such mischief was almost more than Fanny could credit. She found herself re-reading those lines at odd moments over the next week, finding herself more relieved than she knew how to express at his refusal to go along with his sister's indelicate urgings.

To her surprise, Mr Crawford's steady words and refusal to enter into his sister's indiscretions comforted her when she received Edmund's long letter which made clear just how unwilling he was to see his own motivations and Miss Crawford's consistent lack of delicacy of understanding. She returned to the letters she had with such frequency over the next few days that she was in a fair way to memorizing all of them when the letter from her aunt describing her cousin Tom's sudden ill health removed all her own concerns from her mind.

Fanny spent the next weeks living upon letters, barely able to finish reading the day's letter before she was anxious for the next. Oh, how unhappy to be exactly in the wrong place, to be so far from her aunt, for whom she could be useful. She ached to be allowed to help her aunt or uncle, to be allowed to aid in nursing her cousin. She had one fleeting thought about Mr Crawford, but thoughts of him were soon lost in the rush of anxiety and dismay at thoughts of how things must be in Mansfield.

Her unease increased upon reading, in a short letter from Edmund, how the sickroom really progressed and that, though Lady Bertram was not to be alarmed, Edmund and Sir Thomas were both concerned for the state of Tom's lungs.

This anxiety was only stirred by the old sensations of disgust by the receipt of a letter from Miss Crawford in which her indelicacy and lack of depth of understanding were so boldly stated that Fanny put it down halfway through. She could not bear the thought of Edmund, her beloved cousin, falling prey to such a woman.

But even these thoughts, filled with unhappiness as they were, could not stand against her kind solicitude for her aunt and family in Mansfield. She had shared every piece of news regarding the illness in her family in Mansfield with Susan, who held as lively an interest as a girl who had not met any of the principal players could. She was the only one in Portsmouth who regarded the events in Mansfield, however, and her concern, though slightly distant, was honest and true.

In Miss Crawford's letter, she reiterated her interest in bringing Fanny from Portsmouth to Mansfield, but Fanny's awe of her uncle made her refusal, though difficult for herself personally, easy. She could not return to Mansfield until he made arrangements to bring her.

Miss Crawford included another small note from her brother:

> "My dear Miss Price,
> 
> "I understand that your cousin Mr Bertram is seriously ill. I have heard that his family is strongly concerned for him. I wish to extend my sympathies and wish that he return to full health as quickly as possible. I am sorry that you should be so far from home at such an anxious time as this.
> 
> "If you wish to be carried anywhere, please do not hesitate to ask. My sister and I will be in Portsmouth not two days after we receive a letter from you with such a request. I am sensible of the fact that you might be waiting in Portsmouth for word from your uncle. If you find that your family wishes you to be home, but can't spare anyone to bring you, please remember our offer.
> 
> "I did clear up the matters at Everingham with Maddison, and have recently returned from a short visit to see about a small living on the property. I would be interested in your cousin's opinion of the man who has taken the position.
> 
> I am leaving London for Bath in two days to visit my uncle, but I can be in Portsmouth with my sister within three days of her receipt of a letter from you.
> 
> "Your friend, etc..."

For the next few weeks, the letters from Mansfield gradually indicated improvement. Tom's lungs were found to be stronger than expected, and he was making a very slow recovery. Her aunt's letters were again sanguine, and she returned to mentioning small events in the neighborhood, although naturally, the bulk of the letters were made up of news about her son.

Unhappily aware of how much time had spent in Portsmouth, Fanny stood looking out the window in her room. She had been there a full four months and, though she knew she was wanted at home, there was still no word from her uncle about returning her to it. Though it was now June, there was no springlike air in the city, no warming of the earth to bring life and verdant colour to the trees. The sun only brought heat and glare instead of warmth and growth.

The post had brought her a letter from Edmund; it bore a London postmark. Worried that it contained news of the very worst nature - she feared that her cousin Tom had relapsed - Fanny had brought the letter upstairs to read in private in her room.

> "My dear Fanny,
> 
> I know you will be surprised at the postmark upon this letter. I am back in town. Tom's illness has made me realize that I can no longer allow my life, my future, to be in doubt. Nursing him taught me that time is precious. The only thing standing in the way of all my future happiness is my own hesitancy, but I am convinced that she does have some regard for me. I only hope that her prejudices are not as strong as they have previously seemed.
> 
> Now that I am actually at the point, I find myself calm and happy. One part of my happiness is knowing I am connecting myself to two others whom I find are deeply important to me; I am connecting myself to Crawford and to you, Fanny.
> 
> Yours, etc..."

Fanny let the letter fall to the table, her emotions overwhelmingly painful. She knew that Miss Crawford would not refuse Edmund, no matter how strong her prejudices were. Miss Crawford would consent, believing that her influence would bring Edmund around to her way of thinking. Edmund would be trapped in poverty and misery, with a wife who was unworthy and inappropriate.

Susan found her sitting at the window several hours later, the letter still lying open on the table. She closed the letter, and upon seeing how unwell Fanny appeared, quietly brought a small dinner upstairs to her, then let her go to sleep without taxing her with questions.

The next day brought a letter, which upon Fanny opening it, turned out to be two letters, one from Miss Crawford and the second from Edmund. Edmund's, as the shorter one, must be read first.

> "My dear Fanny,
> 
> I write knowing I will be giving you as much pleasure with this news as I have in knowing it. I have been accepted and you and Miss Crawford - Mary - will be the best of sisters. Better, perhaps, because of the depth of understanding and delicacy you can show her, and because of the liveliness of mind she can bring to you.
> 
> I am returning to Mansfield soon, and will discuss with my father the earliest time we can bring you home as well. I see Mary is writing to you; I will include her letter with mine, as we will always be joined in our love for you.
> 
> Yours, etc..."

Fanny sighed over this letter, then turned to the accompanying one from Miss Crawford.

> "My dear Fanny,
> 
> I am so happy I almost don't know where to turn. To know that he does hold me in high regard, to know that we will be cousins, and soon to be sisters... oh, Fanny, these are delights that even the knowledge of Thornton Lacey's poor approach and small grounds can't cloud. I am sure that with time, Edmund - for now I may call him that without anyone's reproach - will grow to understand the other positions he can have in society, which will only be for the best, as then more people will see his prudence and have the benefit of his good sense.
> 
> I do not know what I write, and I must write to my brother as well. He is still visiting Bath, but he will come back immediately upon this news. I believe we will all meet again in Mansfield Park, under much happier circumstances than when we all quitted it.
> 
> Your cousin,"

Upon reading this letter, Fanny threw it down upon its companion on the table and said to herself, "and this is the woman upon whom you depend, Edmund. Her prejudice is as strong as ever, and her lack of decorum will make you unhappy forever." But these thoughts were too like dissatisfaction and resentment to occupy her for long. She contented herself with the hope that Edmund was right in thinking that this would bring her back to Mansfield. Her only wish was that she could bring Susan with her, for she didn't like leaving her sister in such an unhappy and unhealthy home.

Within two days, she received another letter from Miss Crawford, which she opened hesitantly, not at all sure she wanted to hear another expression of the version of love Miss Crawford appeared to be able to feel. The letter was, however, on a very different topic.

> "A most scandalous, ill-natured rumour has just reached me, and I write, dear Fanny, to warn you against giving the least credit to it, should it spread into the country. Depend upon it there is some mistake, and that a day or two will clear it up—at any rate, Henry is safe in Bath and thinks of nobody but you. Say not a word of it—hear nothing, surmise nothing, whisper nothing, 'til I write again. I am sure it will be all hushed up, and nothing proved but Rushworth's folly. If she is gone, I would lay my life she is only gone to Mansfield Park, and Julia with her. But I am sure we will all be there together again very soon.  
> "Yours, &c."

Fanny stood, aghast. No such scandalous, ill-natured rumour had reached her at all, and she racked her brain to think of what Miss Crawford could be thinking of. It sounded as if Mr and Mrs Rushworth had simply gone off to Mansfield Park with Julia, but how this could be construed as scandalous, Fanny had no idea. That it would involve Mr Crawford was even more confusing.

Whilst sitting in the parlour the next day, half-listening to her mother's ineffectual fretting about Rebecca and watching the bread and butter grow increasingly greasy, she was startled to be addressed by her father asking the name of her great cousins in London.

"Rushworth, sir," she said.

"Ah. Thought so. They've got themselves into some trouble, sounds like. I don't know how Sir Thomas likes to handle his affairs, but I say a sound thrashing would have solved this earlier." He held out the newspaper he was reading and pointed at a short paragraph for her to read.

Fanny read, "We are saddened to report upon a matrimonial fracas in the household of Mr R. The beautiful Mrs R, whose presence in Wimpole St has included her in the leaders of the fashionable world, appears to have quitted her husband's roof for that of the captivating Mr C, a close friend of Mr R. As it is believed that Mr C is currently staying in Bath, this does not seem like a wise decision."

"It is not true," she said immediately, more from a wish that it would not be than from an actual belief that it couldn't be.

Her father took the paper back and, turning to another page, said, "Fine society is all going to the Devil anyway, even if this isn't true."

Fanny walked upstairs, thinking. It seemed to her that, no matter how much she might want the story to be untrue, Miss Crawford's letter supported it rather than denied it. She could believe Maria capable of being headstrong and forward, but she did wonder at her for chusing to leave her husband's home when Mr Crawford was away. If he had continued to flirt with her, there might be cause for Maria's flight, no matter how poorly thought out and indiscreet, but as he had avoided her since their attendance at the same party in March, Fanny couldn't comprehend Maria's intent.

She felt as if every shock she'd had before were nothing. The horror of what Maria had done and the sorrow she felt upon Edmund and Miss Crawford's engagement combined to make her feel alternately hot and cold. She tried several times to pick up work or to read, but she found no relaxation in the calming needlework and could find no solace in the ancient riddles of history.

The evening post brought her a letter from Edmund.

> "My dear Fanny,
> 
> You must have heard of our affliction. Maria is gone, and Mr Rushworth will not have her back. It has taken every persuasion in my power to get her to leave Mr Crawford's house. Mr Crawford himself is in Bath and has been for the past several weeks. I believe he is already on his way to town to bring Mary to the Parsonage at Mansfield Park to stay with the Grants.
> 
> There is one more hit, my dear. Julia has eloped; she is run to Scotland with Mr Yates. My father is come to town to deal with this; he leaves my mother alone at a very dangerous time for Tom. I am coming for you; I expect to be in Portsmouth in the morning two days from now. I have my father's permission for you to bring Susan with you for a visit of several months. I am sure you feel his kindness as much as your gentle nature is capable of. Arrange it as you see fit.
> 
> Yours, etc..."

Fanny felt as if she would never wish for a letter again. Each successive letter brought with it such a change in feelings and necessary actions so as to make her feel as if she were in a whirlwind. She was to go home in two days. Susan was to come with her. These were things to be delighted in, but they were balanced by the horrors of Maria's shame and Tom's continued illness, not to mention the pain of having to see her beloved Edmund marry someone so unworthy. Julia's elopement was almost not felt.

She and Susan spent the next day in a bustle of packing and arranging. Mrs Price fretted about Rebecca having ruined all the good boxes, and Betsey managed to unpack and damage several small boxes, but with Fanny and Susan working together, everything was done well in time for Edmund's arrival in the morning two days later.

Fanny was upstairs when he knocked on the door. She flew down the stairs to meet him in the small parlour, at first shivering with shame that he would see the poverty evident in the room. He didn't seem to see anything, but drew her into a deep hug. "My best sister," he whispered, "My only comfort after my dear Mary."

Fanny felt herself go cold. "Oh, Edmund," she said, stepping away from him. He looked drawn. She allowed herself to touch his arm. "How are you?"

He answered in broken language, then asked if they were ready or if they had eaten. They were ready, and the bustle of loading the coach began. Fanny was glad that he did not see how little Mr and Mrs Price felt the loss of their two daughters.

There was no time for conversation until they had all mounted the coach and were well on their way. Susan, sitting facing forward, was as happy as a girl of 14 who was going to a new, delightful place could be. She was worried about the confused events which led to her being able to go, but as she was going, she hid her smiles as best she could and made herself useful to her sister and cousin when needed.

Fanny found solace in being Edmund's confidante one final time as he poured out all the worries, confusions, joys and sorrows of the past few weeks. One thing only distracted her more than she expected.

"Mr Crawford and his sister will be coming directly to Mansfield Park. I expect them to be in the Parsonage the day after we arrive." Edmund looked at Fanny's down turned face. "I do hope you have changed your opinion of him," he ended.

Fanny closed her eyes, then lifted her face, determined to hide her emotions. "It is certain, then, that he was in Bath this whole time?"

Edmund reached out and held her hand. "Yes. He had left weeks before Maria ... Maria." His voice broke and Fanny found herself caught between two emotions. She was again filled with shame at Maria's actions, but a small strong part of her was pleased to hear that Mr Crawford was as constant as he'd said he'd be. A sudden memory of his face as he'd bent towards her in the parlour at Mansfield Park, after he'd declared his intentions made her face warm. His expression, normally lit with a humour she found difficult to be sure wasn't sarcastic, had been only filled with warm interest and concern.

At Mansfield Park, all was confusion. When they arrived, Lady Bertram herself walked into the hall to greet them, all but falling upon Fanny, crying "Oh Fanny, now that you are home I can be comfortable again."

The three left at Mansfield had been each miserable in their own way. However, Edmund's return relieved Tom, as Fanny's did for Lady Bertram. Mrs Norris, however, found no relief anywhere. As she had actually preferred Maria to every other one of her nieces and nephews, she couldn't find happiness in anything. When Sir Thomas came home from town without Maria, she tried to convince him that the family should welcome Maria back, that she had done nothing too unacceptable.

His response shocked her deeply. He told her, in private, that while he held himself ultimately, as her parent, responsible for Maria's lack of understanding of what was acceptable behaviour, Mrs Norris' unfair and preferential treatment of his daughters was a large part of what had made Maria unable to perceive the true shameful nature of her actions.

When he later overheard Mrs Norris berating Fanny, saying that if she had only accepted Mr Crawford's suit when he'd first pressed it, Sir Thomas called Fanny away, then told Mrs Norris that he was refusing to allow her into his house again. As Mrs Norris continued in her desire to see Maria set up, he agreed to settle a small amount on her and arrange for a small house for the two women to live in together, far from their home country.

Fanny, grateful to be given an excuse to leave, found her way up to the East Room and sat crying at the table. When the door opened, she wiped her face and looked up, expecting to see Susan, who had also begun using the room. To her surprise, Sir Thomas walked in. He walked around the room once, then sat opposite her at the table.

"I am sorry that things have turned out this way. I do not blame you for your hesitancy earlier this year. I understand now that your temperament is naturally more retiring than," here he paused, "than others of our acquaintance. I do hope that you accept my apologies for my actions at the time."

After a short pause while she gathered her wits, Fanny tried to make her gratitude known. He listened for long enough to understand her meaning, then smiled.

"I am sure that I will see the young people in my family all settle happily, then," he said, and stood to leave. "I believe I saw Miss Crawford in the entry. I am certain she has come to see you."

Fanny was glad for his small warning as there was light knock on the door immediately following his statement. She took a deep breath and stood as Miss Crawford entered the room. She and Sir Thomas exchanged greetings and Fanny saw that Miss Crawford was still as confident as ever.

When Sir Thomas had left the room, Miss Crawford turned to Fanny, eyes sparkling. "Well, Fanny. How different things are now. Oh, this room is so filled with happy memories." She moved about the room, lifting the books and trinkets arranged on the shelves. "Only think that I was standing here, just here, when Edmund came to rehearse with you, and we sat there, in front of the fireplace when I left for town later." She sighed, her delight in these memories blinding her to Fanny's dismay at the same images. "I do think, though, that a lot of mischief could have been averted if you had simply accepted Henry when he'd asked you. Mrs Rushworth would not have been able to commit such folly - to behave in this manner and to put herself into the power of a servant, and such a servant as well - if you and Henry had been on the point of marriage.

"Oh, Fanny, you turn away, but you know it is true. It all would be nothing, you know, if you and Henry were married now. It would be nothing but a standing flirtation, yearly meetings at Southerton and Everingham."

Fanny tried to say something, she knew not what, but she saw the door move and caught a glimpse of her cousin's face through the gap. Edmund had gone white, she could see, and she gasped.

Miss Crawford turned, but saw nothing from where she stood. She continued, lightly, "I do not know what your uncle is chusing to do, but I think that if Mr Rushworth can be convinced, the best thing would be to have Mrs Rushworth spend the next season at Southerton, and then have her entire family support her in society. It would all be hushed up then, and in two years who would even remember anything about it?"

Fanny watched through the door as Edmund backed away. When he was gone, she turned to Miss Crawford. "I believe that my uncle will choose whatever is most correct. I trust his judgment."

"Oh, I am certain that his judgment is all that is correct. He is just not aware of society's nature. Nothing is remembered, it is all forgot with the next news."

Fanny, seeing that there was no other way to end the conversation, left the room, bringing Miss Crawford with her. Surely this topic was one that even Miss Crawford wouldn't be strong enough to raise whilst in the parlour with the rest of the family.

Mr Crawford was in the parlour with the rest of the family. After half an hour of conversation, he stood and walked with Fanny to look out the window over the lawn.

"It is very different from the views at Portsmouth," he said.

Fanny nearly laughed. His tone was prosaic, with nothing arch or meaningful in it. His observation was also almost exactly what she had been thinking. She smiled at the window glass.

"Yes. I am very glad to be back in the country. The sea views, while pretty, aren't as restful as these are to me."

"I would like to compare them," he said, leaning against the window frame. "It would be interesting to visit different counties and then see other sea ports. I understand Lyme has pretty views as well." He glanced at her down turned face. "Everingham is very near several sea ports and is a very different country to this one. I would enjoy knowing your opinion about how it compares to this."

Fanny looked out the window at the clear sky and sloping lawn, seeing the views and aspects she knew and loved best in the world. She could also see, in the reflection, Edmund, sitting stiff and unhappy next to Miss Crawford who was chatting gaily with Lady Bertram. She looked up at the nearer reflection of herself and Mr Crawford. Letting herself feel one last spasm of misery, she gave herself up to the inevitable.

"Yes, Mr Crawford. I believe I will be able to give you that opinion." She felt him stiffen at her side. He turned so his back shielded them from the view of the others in the room and reached to take her hand.

"Are you..." he began, "do you mean what I hope you mean?"

She sighed and allowed her fingers to close around his. "Yes, Mr Crawford."

"Henry," he breathed. "I am Henry."

Fanny looked up at him and found herself suddenly happier than she'd expected to be. His face was lit with a joy that she was surprised to find reflected in her own breast. His quiet statements to the family and steadfast support of all of Sir Thomas' decisions, regardless of his sister's comments to them when they were alone, made Fanny more grateful than she had thought she could be.

Their marriage happened several months after that of Edmund and Mary's. Fanny spent most of the time with Susan and her aunt Bertram, making wedding plans and helping Susan learn to be as useful and essential to Lady Bertram as she herself had been. She had one uncomfortable conversation with Edmund regarding the conversation between herself and Mary in the East Room before his marriage, but as neither of them could quite come to address the subject, it was short lived.

Fanny found her time more filled with social engagements, new friends, new walks and vistas to explore and new family than she'd expected. To her surprise, Henry was steady and constant. The few times they stayed in town were filled with parties, but everyone commented on how much quieter Henry was than he had been. She saw several women approach him expecting his old flirtatious behaviour, but though he was polite, he never again engaged in his old tricks.

Many years later, upon Mary's latest lying in, Fanny visited the Parsonage to help Mary and Edmund and their little ones. She found Edmund and Mary in the state of almost perpetual disharmony that they'd been in since she learned he intended to continue in his chosen profession, and he discovered the depths of her indelicacy. They each spent time with her, Mary spending the time trying to convince Fanny to Edmund to spend more time in town and Edmund trying to bring up the old times he and Fanny had spent walking in Mansfield Park. Fanny was distressed to see that Mary's behaviour had not been lifted by Edmund's good example, but that Edmund had, in fact, learned to be less discreet and more indelicate by Mary's bad example.

When she came home, Henry's happy face and her children's cheerful greetings surrounded her with comfort. That evening, after the children had gone to bed, she sat in the parlour with Henry. Her life was not what she had hoped it would be when she was young, but upon reflection, she decided, looking at her husband, sitting at the desk writing letters to his steward, and looking at the basket of sewing she had tucked next to her on the sofa, it was a better life than she would have had if things had worked out in the way she'd wanted at first.

End.


End file.
